


Traversal.

by CescaLR



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: #sarcasm, (Steve travels into the wrong past basically that's the premise), (daniel's not in it i haven't watched the right show but he is her husband so, (there's more different than he's aware of at the moment ooohh mysteries how fun), Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Divergent Timelines, F/M, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Maria Stark's Good Parenting, POV Howard Stark, POV Steve Rogers, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Thanks, Time Travel, Timeline Shenanigans, a weird combo of the two, he'll be mentioned enough to warrent the tag)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-08-10 03:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20128369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: Steve Rogers travels through time, but the place he finds himself is not where he started.Captain America is found by Howard Stark in 1979.A lot of things chage. But a lot don't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a test. Seeing if I can write Cap before I add drabbles about him to the Nadya = Natasha time travel au. Bear with me, since i haven't actually watched any of his solo movies, and nor do I plan to.

Howard had been looking for a very, very long time. Ever since he was first able to, after Steve's crash, after the war. He'd been too busy during it and of course, it wasn't exactly safe, so it took... perhaps too long to start looking, and by that time any evidence of his crash had likely been washed away by the ocean Captain America had sacrificed himself to.

But Steve was Howard's friend, one of the few people he could call that, and he wasn't about to give up now. He was too stubborn, really, and he wasn't about to call his work over the last few decades a _waste, _like so many others were prone to. Three to six months of every year since he'd started were not a waste. They'd all lead to this moment.

"Somethin's on the radar, sir," One of his many employees that were manning the scanners said, at the same time as many similar pronouncments. Howard smiled grimly. "Then let's start digging," He said. It hadn't been that long, relatively speaking, but ice in this area of the world was generally very determined to take over everything around it. Steve had crashed in the ice, so in the ice they would look.

It takes them weeks, damn the innacuracy of his scanners, he should upgrade them post-haste - but they do find the exact place they should dig down. It takes time, to excavate the area, and very carefully make sure they don't drill straight into Steve's blond head. Or skull, though given the ice, if he is dead, at least his body will have been preserved.

Howard highly doubts it. He trusts in the serum, and in Steve, and so he holds onto that stupid, fragile hope he's held onto for the past three decades (or thereabouts) that he's alive and well and unharmed.

A whole 'nother month has passed, by the time they get the cube of ice which contains the plane safely out of it's pit and onto the freighter, designed specifically for such a task and upgraded at least five times a decade, for posterities sake. It's been around since the beginning and has served them well, but it started to get annoying in the sixties when he got more and more complaints about the thing from people that don't care for innovation.

He'll have to put that on the backburner for later, however, as inside the block of solid ice is nothing other than Steven Grant Rogers, and a very dangerous plane.

It takes a lot of care and consideration to break into the plane, and then a lot of care and consideration to make sure the reason the idiot had crashed into the ocean was no longer an issue (it was not) and sitting there, innocuously, once they'd hollowed out the inside as much as they could, were Steve and his shield.

(Hence the name of the organisation. Peggy and Howard were - sentimental, perhaps. In that.)

"Should we break out the celebratory drinks, boss?" One of his employees, a Mr. Roberts, asks.

"Not until he's thawed out and deemed healthy, Roberts," Howard says. "Let's get him out of there."

They do. It takes another week of dithering about and careful consideration, before Howard just takes a blowtorch to the ice around Rogers because, damn it, he's a _super soldier, _and Howard was getting tired of the back and forth. He'd waited three decades for this moment, and that was three decades too many.

Once Steve's legs and torso are free, Howard very carefully lowers the heat and sets about melting the ice around his head. It takes longer, but it's safer, and the second the ice is melted Rogers gasps for breath, then splutters, coughs, having took in a lung and a half full of water. Howard claps him on the back to help him cough it all up, and then Steve is looking at him, lips blue and face pale and shuddering with the effort of not just simply freezing into a solid block of super-solider again, so Howard scoffs and drags the heavy man from his seat.

"A little help here?" He radios his men, and the two he'd brought for sheer muscle clamber into the plane and help him get Steven out.

"Howard?" Steve manages, staring at him. Howard supposes he's changed in looks enough for that to be warranted. "I'd be offended you had to ask, if it hadn't been a few years," Howard says. "A lot's happened, but you should warm up first."

Steve looks at him, numbly. He stumbles, when he lands on the ice, and Mr Johnson - one of the two he'd called for - steadies him on his feet. Steve looks dizzy, and Howard expects it when he looks around, numbly shocked, and passes out.

Mr Johnson carries him, with obvious effort, to the ship. Not the frieghter, that's for the plane.

* * *

Steve hadn't expected this. Oh, he'd expected to replace himself - looking in the mirror, he's not exactly the same as he was when he'd just escaped the ice last time. He looks the same as always, scar-free and blonde and muscular, but he looks just that bit older, the same as he did all those years after the ice, when time-travel was their last-ditch attempt and he'd been the only logical choice, as the one that could go back farthest with the least risks. That was still around.

Steve shuddered, and tried not to think about that. Everything was going to change this time, it had to. That was what he was here for. The problem stands, then, that he hadn't even _done _anything yet, and here he was, on a ship in 1979. Thanks to _Howard. _

Howard had never found him before. Steve would definitely remember if he had. So that begs the question; did Steve travel through time, or did they accidentally send him somewhere _else?_

Or did him travelling through time cause some strange issue that caused Howard to look in just some _slightly _different places for him in a _slightly _different order, so that now it was three decades later than Steve had expected to come back, and Steve was on a ship in the middle of nowhere about to be transported back to America, three decades later than expected and five too early?

(They'd had a plan. Steve would crash the plane, like before, but he'd get the hell out of dodge. He could plough it into the ocean and swim away in time, and he'd... work everything else out from there. It was - he had to crash the plane. That had to happen, there wasn't a way around that. And even if he didn't, well, 2011 wasn't too bad. Though if they'd wanted that, sending Tony back would have made more sense - anyway, Steve's tired of arguing about who should go back and when, since it doesn't matter anyway. He's already here, so there's nothing to argue.

Still. Steve would have liked some warning things would be this different _already. _

He'd had a _plan. _Sort of. And now he wasn't sure what to do at all, since SHIELD and Hydra were basically one and the same from the beginning, he can't trust them now, and - well he can trust Peggy, but he can't trust the rest of them. And then there's Howard - and it's the 70s.

God. Tony'd be nine by now, if it's late in the year. Doesn't even have to be that late; he was born in may, 1970. Two decades before Carol does her thing, and three too late to save Bucky easily. Natasha - Steve never did get a full grasp on her history; she wasn't really one for sharing, so he had no idea when that whole thing started or ended. He'd never even gotten a hint about Bucharest, which is pretty silly now that he thinks about it, given the whole _travelling through time to save everyone and stop Thanos before he can snap away half of everything, _but. Oh well.

He just needs to get rid of - even just _one _stone, and they'll be better off by _miles. _Hell, if he can gather up the stones and snap away Thanos _himself, _well, that'd work too.

And. Well. Steve was chosen for his proximity to the tesseract, if nothing else. Tony couldn't replace himself, since you can't explain a middle-aged man suddenly replacing a five year old, for example.

So. Steve it was.

(Nat was out of the running for obvious reasons.)

There was a knock on the door of his quaters, and Steve quickly moved away from the mirror to go check who it was. Howard, obviously. Steve opened the door, and it was still so - strange to see him. Older than Steve remembered, right, but younger than he'd...

Than when he'd died. Technically, the last time Steve had 'seen' Howard Stark, it was in the video recording of the man's own _death. _In '91.

"Howard," Steve greets his old friend. Old, too, but not _that _old. Definitely older than Steve, though.

1917, he was born. He'd be - what, sixty something? By now?

He'd had Tony quite late on, Steve reflected.

Howard smiles, not quite surprisingly. "You're in good shape for a man that was under ice for thirty years," Howard says. "It's good to see there weren't any complications."

"Aged a little," Steve says.

"Not as much as the rest of us," Howard chuckles. "Come on, I'll show you around. It'll take some time to get back to America, so you should meet the people you're stuck with."

Steve nods, then follows the man out of the ship's cabins into a... general sort of common area.

"Everyone here is on the clock, so this is rarely used," He says, dismissively. "If you want privacy but not isolation, here is a good choice."

Howard runs a tight ship, it seems.

Steve is taken through the decks of the ship; storage, quaters (two levels of them, though many cabins aren't used, and Steve finds he's been given some of the nicest ones - there's a couple that are just five cots shoved against the walls), food and more storage, navigation and -

"That's a lot of screens," Steve says.

"Technology has evolved over the past decades - with no small amount of my own intervention," Howard says, walking among the mess of machines, all scanners of various types and shapes and sizes. There's a chair at all of them, and all of them are manned, even though Steve's no longer buried under a hell of a lot of ice.

"Mr. Roberts," Howard says. "I think the celebration dinner is in order. Everyone, Captain America. Steve, my employees."

"Hello," Steve says. "Steve's fine, though."

"It's good to meet you, Captain," One man says, from his seat behind a tall machine to Steve's left. He leans around, and he's middle aged - short, with salt-and-pepper hair and a cheerful smile. "You deserve the respect, I'd say. You saved our asses back then."

"Wonder what Mason and Mason are gonna have cookin'" Another man says. "I'm sure Mary and Michael will outdo themselves," Howard says, and there's a mild amount of tension and pressure there, Steve can tell - Howard wasn't exactly known for being easy-going.

"'Course they will," Yet another man says, a touch placating. "It's a celebration of thirty years' work in findin' Captain America, sir. It'll be their best meal yet."

* * *

The food is excellent. When Howard says so, the tension bleeds from Mary's shoulders and her husband places a relieved kiss on her cheek, as she does the same. 

So yes. The food is excellent, the alcohol is expensive, the atmosphere is relieved and elated - these people have been at this since the start, some of them, Steve knows. Mr. Roberts for sure, and he's delighted to tell tales about the things they've gotten up to - but he doesn't have many. All told, it's been a boring task, looking for Steve for thirty years. A lot of people left and didn't come back, but some stuck around. And here they are, the people that stayed and those that joined up more recently, saying toasts to themselves and Howard and Steve himself, and it's mildly awkward. He's one for rallying speeches and throwing around hard truths, not... sitting at a table eating the finest food and watching Howard congratulate everyone, but mostly himself, for a thirty-year job well done.

three to six months. Every year. Just to find - just to find Steve.

Every year.

Even after Tony was born.

Steve's not... look. Him and Tony were only sort of friends, and that was - before Steve didn't tell him about the video he found, and it was before the accords. And it was after they'd both insulted each other to high heavens, and it was decidedly not when Ultron was a looming or recent threat.

So. Maybe they weren't really friends. They certainly hadn't spent that much time together, and that doesn't really mean anything - it's just fact. None of them ever really took up the offer to live in the Tower, even with it's dedicated floors and it's big A sign. They just... hadn't. It hadn't ended up working out like that. And everything just kind of went over the edge after, one thing then another, and Steve had smashed his shield, the very one Howard had made, right into Tony's arc reactor in Sibera, and that - might not have been his best move. To inspire friendship. But they'd both made bad choices, bad decisions, and they were both equally at fault for the lack of a proper friendship.

But Steve can admit one thing, from what he'd learned over the years, from what he'd seen in SHEILD's files and from what he'd gathered otherwise, and it was that Howard was, at the very least, somewhat neglectful. And the thing is, Steve could'a told you that from the very beginning. Howard just... wasn't the sort to be a dad. Never was good with kids, and was only decent with certain people. And maybe the fact that it was _his _kid would make him like the kid, make the kid one of those people, but Steve wasn't sure, had never been. He'd stood by what he said to Tony, all those years ago (and in the future), back when the Avengers (mess) started for a long time. But there are nuances, and for certain, Tony was a much, much better contender for dad of the year than Howard could ever hope to be.

"To determination." Howard toasts, and Steve can lift his drink to that, so he does.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

It takes until december to make it back onto American soil. Steve's been around for three months now, apparently. This was their longest voyage yet, but since they _found _Steve this time everyone counts it as worth it. 

Roberts - Maximus, but he prefers Roberts - joins his wife at the dock, after getting his well-deserved picture and autograph, like the rest of the crew. Well, the rest of the crew got their well-deserved picture and autograph, as the picture was a group one with all the crew (Howard and Steve were front and centre for PR related, putting-this-in-the-papers related, reasons), and Steve signed each personal copy. They - they didn't all join their wives at the dock, because not everyone had one. Regardless, everyone else signed the pictures, too, so it took a long time, frankly much longer than Steve had ever stood around signing photographs, but then, that wasn't exactly something people did on a regular basis. 

Well. Celebrities do it on a regular basis, and... well, that's what Steve and Howard - and yeah, the rest of the crew are. The crew found and saved Captain America from his _icy tomb, _as the papers are gonna read, probably, and Howard - well, he orchastrated the whole shebang. And Steve's the lucky super soldier who didn't manage to freeze to death, and he's been a Celebrity for thirty years or so, so.

There's that.

(And also, Polaroids have been around for a long time. As has colour. Point being, at least they don't have to wait for the pictures to be deveolped - though, thinking about it, Steve would have liked the breathing room.

He just. He has a lot to think about, and hasn't really had the privacy to think it. Much.

Okay, maybe he's overthought it. But - he's just not sure how to go about anything yet. Not even a little.)

Once everyone's gone, Steve's left on the dock with Howard and Maria and a limosine, and then they're off to the Stark's house.

"Steven," Maria greets. "It's good to finally meet you." She smiles. There's a faint, almost unnoticable hint of an accent to her words that isn't American, but Steve was never any good at placing accents even when he could hear them outright, so he doesn't bother trying to. 

"Thank you," Steve responds.

"Howard's told me a lot about you," Maria says, "And I suppose he neglected to mention much about me?"

"You're his wife, Maria Stark," Steve says. "You run a lot of charities and the like. PR powerhouse."

Maria smiles wider. "It's very important work, yes," She says. "But I know your favourite colour and what day you first decided to sign up to the army, Steve. Did you know I'm sicilian, originally?"

"No," Steve admits. "I didn't."

"Well see, now you do," She says, still smiling. "See? We're getting along already. Do you have anything you want to tell me?"

"Fact for a fact?" Steve asks. "Well, sure. Um... I like dogs more than cats, which is a real shame, since - well," He shrugs, lightly.

"Since Bucky was the opposite?" Maria asks, gently. She's a smart woman, has to be, to marry Howard, so Steve doesn't pretend that's not the second half to his sentence.

"Is," Steve coughs, awakwardly. "Uh... yeah." Steve's not sure how to say _Bucky fell but didn't die, beause those bastards in Hydra found him, brainwashed him, turned him into the winter soldier, had him assassinate a bunch of people, and I know this because I time-travelled and in the future, he kills you... _without immediately being sent to a mental asylum of some sort.

Maria looks at him sympathetically. "It's been a long time," She says. "But... I don't want to get your hopes up..." She hesitates. "I mean - Howard found you in the ice, after all these years. When people went to look, nobody found Seargent Barnes' body."

"I know it sounds ridiculous, Maria," Steve says, "But that helps more than you know."

"It doesn't sound ridiculous at all," Maria smiles again. "I've listend to my husband insist you're alive for the past decade or so. And seen him do it on live television before that. Trust me, impossible odds seem much less impossible with the proof right in front of you."

Once again, that helps more than she can know. Steve smiles in return, and she smiles wider at having gotten him to do so. "Would you like a drink?" She asks, and opens the limo's cooler. Howard is in front, in the passenger's seat, for some inane reason. Perhaps he actually wants them to bond, without having to be in danger of getting all emotional himself.

"Sure," Steve says. She pours a flute for him, and he drinks the champagne slowly, small sips. He's not looking to get drunk, and he can't, actually, so it's just... just a drink.

"Does alcohol work for you?" Maria asks, curiously.

"No," Steve says. "Well. Not unless I drink a whole brewery out of buisness."

Maria laughs, and Steve almost startles, because it sounds like Tony, and he hadn't expected that. Obviously not exactly the _same, _what with them being the opposite sex and all, but -

Steve looks closer, and he realises he sees more of Maria than Howard in Tony's appearance. There's some Howard, enough to know who Tony's father is - but there's a lot of Maria, too, now that he's comparing them.

Steve blinks, then shrugs mentally.

"Did Howard mention our son?" Maria asks. Steve blinks, then thinks, and blanches.

"No," He says. Two months, and Howard hadn't - hadn't said a word about Tony.

"Hmm. Typical." She shakes her head, not even disappointed or surprised or resigned. "We have a son, then," She says. "His name is Anthony. Tony, mostly, but _Antonio _when I'm feeling truly dissapointed," She smiles mischeviously. "It works like a charm." She sighs, then, and frowns. "Or when I'm worried," She adds, and there's a frown on her face, just mildly. "He's a lot like Howard, in a way. Already inventing." She purses her lips. "Trying to impress his father, I think."

"You think?" Steve asks.

"My son's a genius," Maria says. "I'm very proud of him. But the things Howard has him make..." She sighs.

"... weapons?" Steve asks, hesitantly.

Maria shrugs delicately, a lift of one shoulder. "Sometimes," She says.

Steve frowns, and the conversation ends there. They stay silent until the limo pulls up into the driveway, all the way through leaving the car, entering the house, and walking into the living room. the personal one, not the main one, or the guest one, or the friend one, or the buisness one.

They have too many rooms, Steve decides. He's already lost track of where they are once they reach the room Maria decides will suffice for a long-lost super soldier, herself, her husband, and a small, tiny, pint-sized genius.

One day this child will build an iron man suit in a cave to escape from terrorists, and then he'll go on a crusade and single-handedly end the Ten Rings. Steve looks at him, at this tiny version of Tony, and can't picture it.

Tony looks straight at Steve. Unwaveringly. It's unnerving, partially because Steve... he's mostly aware of what Howard said about Steve to Tony, if not the actual words themselves. Just. He's gathered the intent.

Or, perhaps not the intent - but the effect. Being constantly aware of your father's preference for Captain America and finding yourself wanting in comparison is... definitely not the best for a kid.

At least, that's what Steve thinks was going on. He can't actually _know. _He can just... extrapolate things Tony's said over the years and what he remembers of Howard to make... educated guesses. And he can't even make those, because he doesn't know the Howard that raised Tony, just the one from thirty years prior, and he can't guess how Tony took everything, because as previously stated, even if they were what you'd call friends, they weren't close. Steve had never gotten any real details, probably because he'd never asked, and Tony didn't trust easily.

So. That's an issue.

"Hey there kiddo," Steve says, anyway. "I'm -"

"Captain America," Tony says. "Steven Grant Rogers. Dad's been looking for you for a long time."

"Anthony," Howard sighs. "Sorry-"

Steve crouches down. "Yeah, that's me," He smiles, hopefully encouragingly. "And you're Anthony Edward Stark. A little genius, from what I've heard."

"I'm not _little," _Tony says, petulantly, and Steve smiles a little more genuinely. It's not that it wasn't genuine before, but, he supposes it was a tinge wary. He didn't want the kid to hate him already, they hadn't even spoken yet.

Still. Steve wonders what the letter of what Howard had said about him really was.

"But you are a genius," Steve says. "And the world's better off with more of those. What do you like to make?"

Tony looks at Howard quickly, hesitently, and entirely lacking in subtlety.

"He's very good with explosives," Howard says. "Fucking scared me the first time I found him with one."

Maria sighs, slightly, barely audibly. Tony ducks his head.

"I think everyone likes explosives," Steve says. "At least just a little. Anything else?"

Tony hesitates. "I like computers," He says. "Robots."

"Very cool," Steve says, then wonders if that's 70s appropriate. Oh, he should still be talking like the forties, shouldn't he? Damn. Nevermind. "Robots are awesome."

Tony nods enthusiastically. "Very," He says, reverently. This is the kid who'll invent the world's first self-aware AI, and Steve can definitely see that.

"And a bit much just yet," Howard says. "You get into enough trouble with guns, Tony. How was your stay with Peggy?"

"Aunt Peggy took me to the science museum," Tony says, happily. He carries on talking about his stay with Peggy and her husband, and - Steve had been... vaguely aware that Peggy had known Tony, and vice versa, but hadn't been aware of just how involved she'd been in his young life.

Maria looks at Steve, then takes him by the arm and away from Tony and Howard, just out of earshot.

"I'm sorry, we should have said - Howard doesn't always think," She says.

"I know she got married, Maria," Steve says, gently. "It's been thirty years. Can't expect a girl, or anyone, really, to wait that long for a dance."

"You're taking all this very well," Maria says. "It's admirable. But it's okay to - not be okay with everything, you know that, right? The war's over, Steve. You can rest, and you can freak out about being on the wrong side of 1950."

"I think I'm on the right side, personally," Steve says. "I read up on the changes when on the ship - a lot has improved. Not - not everything, but... so much is so much better."

"It is," She agrees, readily. "But it's different from what you're used to, and you're allowed to be - at least confused, if not more."

"I am a bit," Steve says. "But I'm noting if not able to adapt. I'm fine, Maria, really."

"If you're sure," She says. "I'll go ask the staff for dinner - you go sit with those two, alright?" She hesitates. "Sometimes they need a mediator," She admits, quieter, and then quickly hurries off.

Steve frowns after her, then focuses his hearing on Howard and Tony. What Howard's saying is innocuous, but Tony's gone silent... maybe he's just listening, but Steve wants to be _sure. _

Steve walks over and sits down on the couch. Tony's on the other end and Howard is sitting in the armchair, just like they'd been when Maria had took Steve aside. But Tony's quiet, which is strange for the Tony Steve remembers but might not be for this kid, and Howard is talking.

"- so you'll be in the lab tomorrow." Howard finishes.

"Okay." Tony says. Howard looks at him. "Thank you," Tony adds.

"Been a long time since I've seen your lab, Howard," Steve says. "Mind if I join?"

"Of course," Howard says, easily. Tony frowns lightly, then glances at Steve.

"For now," Steve says, "Maria said she's getting food made, so..."

"Right," Howard nods and stands, which Tony hasitly follows. "Dining room it is, then," Howard says, and Steve stands to follow the two Starks from the living room. Through the maze of the house, they eventually arrive at a dining hall. It's a hall, not a room, and by god this house is ridiculous.

Tony's Tower almost seems modest in comparison. Almost. It's got _more _rooms, really; the modestly (the _almost _modesty) is in the amount of it Tony uses for himself, and the decoration.

Still.

Steve sits down where he's guided to sit. Howard sits at the head of the table, with Maria to his left and steve to his right. Tony is sat next to Maria.

The food is nice, and... yeah. It's a mildly awkward dinner. Perhaps even more than the celebratory one on the ship. Still, Tony's yawning, so Maria takes him to bed. Howard shows Steve the room he'll be staying in 'for as long as he wants' as he gets himself on his feet, 'and after, since it's saftest here; he'd be a target in a dingy apartment somewhere.'

Steve was a bigger target in the 2010s and he lived in a SHEILD issued apartment, which wasn't exactly the lap of luxury, but Howard wasn't to know that.

Howard left. Steve opened the dresser and found pyjamas in his exact size. The room looked like it was meant for him, and given how long Howard had searched for, it probably was.

There was a trunk off to the side. Steve opened it, and stared. His posessions - some even SHEILD in the future hadn't managed to keep a hold of.

Steve sighed, closed the trunk, dropped into bed, and decided to deal with all this _later. _


	3. Chapter 3

"Going back to the forties seems like a bit much, is all," Steve says. "It's just that - if I get dropped back in the plane, I won't - I'll have to do the same thing."

"You won't," Natasha says, firmly. "You'll fly the plane there, then jump out, swim as far away as you can manage and you'll let it drop itself into the water. The weight of one super-soldier is negligable, Steve, it'll still sink without you in it."

"Look, Capsicle," Tony says, speaking up for the first time in an hour - a mild miracle, since Tony never seems to shut up. Not - not that Steve... okay, right, that sounded bad. What Steve means is - Tony's very talkative, and sometimes that isn't helpful, but it's just the way he is, and Steve's not going to _lie, _the man can be fairly funny, it's just, when it's _appropriate, _and a lot of the time he doesn't seem to consider the situation before he runs his mouth off, cracking jokes left right and centre.

"Howard trusts _you." _Tony says. "If anyone can get SHEILD cleaned up before Hydra sink their teeth in, it's you. And even if you show up later, even if this doesn't throw you back as far as we'd like, then, well, he still trusts _you. _He'll listen if you say they've got rats in the system."

"None of us can go back as easily." Bucky says, simply. "I'm stuck with Hyda, if this doesn't sent me far enough back. Natasha's too young, and replacing her child self would be dangerous - she's in the Red Room, it's just not safe, and she's there for too long to be helpful, anyway. Tony's got the same child replacement situation goin' on, Sam doesn't have any links, neither does Clint - not ones that'll help, anyway - so it's... it's just you, Steve."

"Alright," Steve says. "I'll-"

* * *

Steve sits bolt upright in his bed, clutching painfully tight at the sheets. One dream leads to another to another to a nightmare, ususally, if he has them, and he thinks simple, calming thoughts about what he could draw tomorrow while his hands twist the fabric but thankfully don't rip the covers, and his breathing slows, slows, regulates. 

Simple stuff, really. Dreaming about the decision, then the decision leading to the fallout, then the fallout leading to the worst possible scenario. Nightmares work from things in your real life, or so he's been told, so there's probably a fear of ruining this second chance buried somewhere in the mess of emotions this whole situation is shovelling onto him.

Steve swings his legs off the bed, stands and stretches. He checks the alarm - 5:06am - then shrugs and decides that's good enough. He dresses in what he assumes is the latest in 70s fashion because, well, these people are _rich, _then opens his door and peers down the hallway, either side. Left or right, he can't see anything other than the dark shadows the light leaking from his bedroom makes, so Steve leaves his room and softly shuts the door behind himself with a quiet _click. _

Steve walks down the hallway, the plush carpet muffling the sound of his footsteps, until he finds the staircase. He's not alone, up at this early hour.

"Hello, sir." The man says, and Steve jolts, mlidly, because that's -

"You must be Mr. Rogers," The man nods to him. "My name is Edwin Jarvis. A pleasure to meet you, Captain. Sir has been looking for you for a long time."

"I heard," Steve says. "So you..."

"Work for the Starks, yes," Jarvis nods. "I am their butler."

"Guess you need one with a house this big," Steve says, ruefully. "Found I'm a bit lost. Could you point me where the garden is?"

"Certainly, Mr. Rogers," Jarvis stands, places the polish and cloth on the table next to the vase he was shining up. "If you'll follow me."

Steve follows him down the stairs, and attempts to memorise the layout of the house as they walk.

"Sir has more then just one Butler looking after the house," Jarvis states, simply. "My wife is Tony's nanny, when Maria can't be here to look after him, or he isn't with Sir in the workshop. There are a few cooks, and a few maids - a small staying staff, as most of the rest, meaning the gardeners and the other cleaners, only come every now and again for housekeeping. The others keep the place as clean as they can until then, then being usually the last day of the month, every month except February, and twice - the 2nd and last day of - March."

"Oh." Steve nods. "Okay."

"It's simple enough," Jarvis says. "I just find people work better with fair warning about the presence of strangers where they're living. Here we are." Jarvis opens the doors to the outside, and Steve winces at the sheer - well, grandure, of the garden.

"There's a larger area at the back, where if you wish to exercise would be most appropriate." Jarvis nods. "You can get there via the hedge tunnel. Come." The hedge tunnel, as Jarvis calls it, turns out to just be a path lined on either side with perfectly trimmed hedges, mirrored the same on the other side of the garden. There are breaks in the hedge at points, to let you into other sections of the garden. Steve just thinks this is a thoroughfare for the staff, in all likelihood, so they're not seen just wandering through the main areas of the garden.

Steve grimaces.

They arrive at the larger area at the back, which turns out to just be exactly that. It's a large, empty area of neatly kept grass with one tree in the back right corner, which has an old rope swing on one hanging branch and low, long leaves, all trimmed level - probably willow, Steve thinks.

"Here we are." Jarvis gestures. "This is - well, it is if Sir ever gains an interest in sport." His lips quirk up.

"Not a fan?" Steve pretends to ask. "He built a circuit board when he was four," Jarvis says, simply. "And Sir has him in school already - he's sure to test out far enough out of his age range that... well, sports is an unlikely passtime." Jarvis purses his lips.

"As are friends," Steve says, simply, frowning at the swing.

"Indeed," Jarvis sighs. "He is... too young and too intelligent for their liking, as far as I can gather."

"He's nine, right?" Steve says.

"Yes," Jarvis nods. "When I was nine," Steve says. "I ran around hitting other people with sticks, and getting hit by other people with sticks. Or we played with little toy cars, or something, it's a bit fuzzy. It's a lot easier to find your fun now, I'm guessing, 'cause there's so much more stuff to do, but, I dunno."

"You'll find we had a similar childhood, Mr. Rogers," The man says. Steve knows he dies before - or during? - Tony's MIT stay, and that it's - it was just because he's old. He's grey, now, hair and wrinkles signing his time on earth, and Steve's going to find out, pretty soon probably, what it feels like to have all this future knowledge, all this extra time... and yet, still an inibility to save someone from their fate.

"It's a bit - I don't know." Steve looks away. "I should be - well, dead, but I should be old, you know? 40s was a long time ago. Born in 1918, but I still look the same as I did 30 years ago."

"A blessing, I'd wager." Jarvis says. "What I wouldn't give, for more time with..." Jarvis sighs. "It is too early," He says, "Pardon my overstep. Would you like me to fetch a drink for your run? Or have a cook prepare breakfast?"

"'S'not an overstep," Steve says, attempting for reassurance. "If I could give people more time, I would." Steve shakes his head. "But - no, that's not necessary, thank you."

"Very well." Jarvis nods. "I shall see you back in the house, Mr. Rogers."

"Steve," Steve says.

"Very well, Steve." Jarvis nods, again, then leaves.

* * *

Steve slows down, when he catches sight of little nine-year-old Tony standing in the left-hand entrance of the clearing. 

"Hey there," Steve calls out, comes to a stop near the kid.

"Hello." Tony blinks up at him, wary, so Steve crouches down, closer to the kid's level.

"What 'cha doing up so early, Tony?" Steve asks, gently.

Tony shrugs, lifts one shoulder half-heartedly then drops it.

"Me too," Steve says, simply. "C'mon. You wanna use the swing?"

"Swings are for little kids." Tony says, mulishly. Steve's mouth quirks up, supressing a smile.

"Oh really?" Steve asks. "Who'd you hear that from?"

"Dad," Tony says, simply, and Steve's mouth drops. "Right," Steve says. "Well, between you and me, kid, he's wrong. Swings are cool. Closest thing to freeflying we've got. C'mon, I can push you." Steve grins. "See how high we can get it." Safely, of course.

Tony's eyes shift, furtively. "Okay," He says. He is a lot quieter than his older counterpart, Steve thinks, and it's - putting him off. He'll grow into it, Steve knows, but... for now Steve doesn't know what to do with a quiet little Tony.

* * *


End file.
